


Sick Day

by BasilHellward



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Sickfic, Swearing, Wordcount: 500-1.000, chest infections suck, oh god it's impossible to not make John OOC if he's not being an asshole, the fuck do u even title sick fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9844211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasilHellward/pseuds/BasilHellward
Summary: "You look like shit, mate."Chas snorts. "Gee, thanks, John."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, please point out any spelling or grammar mistakes, and constructive criticism is always welcome! Enjoy :)

John is a little worried. It's past ten o'clock and Chas hasn't surfaced yet, and he doesn't usually sleep so late. John's only awake because he couldn't sleep at all. 

He opens the bedroom door a crack, quietly as he can manage but all the hinges in the mill could do with being oiled. "Chas?" he hisses, peeking round the door, "you awake?" 

Chas groans at him, which John takes as both a _yes_ and _you may enter_. He pushes the door all the way open — Chas cringes at the screech — walks the rest of the way into the room, sits down on the bed, and frowns. 

Chas looks awful. His skin is chalk-white, his nose reddened, and there are dark circles around his eyes. John had thought he looked a little peaky on the drive home yesterday, but since Chas didn't say anything, he'd assumed he was just tired from another long day. That's clearly not the case. 

"You look like shit, mate."

Chas snorts. "Gee, thanks, John," he says, his voice nasal.

"You alright?" John asks. 

Chas is not alright. He's dying. Okay, not _literally,_ but he kind of wishes he was so he could wake up good as new like he always does when he dies. His throat is too sore to say all this to John, so instead Chas just shakes his head and coughs pathetically. 

John hums in a way he probably thinks sounds sympathetic and not patronising, reaching out to place the back of his hand on Chas' forehead. 

"Well," John says, "you don't have a temperature, so it's prob'ly just a cold. You'll live," then pats Chas' cheek. 

"Thanks, Doctor John, but I'd already figured that out for myself."

"Alright, ya sarky git, I won't bring you breakfast in bed then."

Chas chuckles. "There's no breakfast for you to make, we haven't gone shopping," he says, sitting up on his elbows.

"Just you lie back down," John says softly, placing a hand on Chas' chest. "The rising darkness ain't going anywhere, love. We can take the day off," he says, pushing Chas' sleep-tousled hair off of his forehead before running his hand through it. "I'm knackered anyhow."

"Couldn't sleep?" Chas asks, leaning into John's hand. "Mm, that feels nice."

"Don't get too used to it," John says in an effort to dodge Chas' question, then, "d'you want me to run round to the shops and get you some soup or something?"

Chas opens his mouth to answer, but ends up having a coughing fit instead. He covers his mouth with his hand and John pats his back and winces when Chas wheezes between each crackly wet cough.

"Not hungry," he finally manages to croak. "And I don't trust you with my cab." John's gone back to stroking his hair, his face noticeably more concerned, or maybe he's just stopped hiding it.

"You should still eat something, or have some water at least. Won't get better otherwise, will you?"

Chas can't help the smile that creeps onto his face when it occurs to him that this usually happens the other way around. It's usually Chas who plays nurse when John's had too much to drink after a rough day — which is almost every day in their line of work — or when he gets hurt, which is usually his own fault for... well, for being John.

"What're you all chuffed about then?"

"Nothing," Chas says, "c'mere," and tries to pull John down to lay beside him.

John pulls away. "Eh, no, you're alright, mate. You're sick, and John Constantine doesn't cuddle."

Chas laughs hoarsely. "We both know that's bullshit. C'mon, it'll make me feel better."

John rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine," he says, "if it'll stop your moaning. But you better not get me sick."

John stands, then gets in beside Chas when Chas holds the covers back for him. Once John is comfortable, Chas lays his head on John's chest, annoyed that his nose is blocked — more annoyed than he already was, anyway — because it means he can't breathe in John's cigarettes-and-too-much-cologne scent that he's grown to love. 

John wraps an arm around Chas and gives him a squeeze and Chas sighs, content. "John?" he says.

"Yeah?" 

"I love you."

John doesn't say anything for a moment — Chas assumes he's trying to decide whether to say _of course you do, what's not to love?_ or _fuck knows why,_ depending on whether his god complex or his self-hatred is in the driver's seat today. But today, John surprises Chas by mumbling, "Love you too," and leans forward to kiss the back of Chas' head. 

Chas falls asleep with a faint smile on his face, warm and comfortable despite his sickness, and John hums Sex Pistols songs under his breath as he strokes Chas' hair.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have a minute, leave a comment telling me what you think! If you don't have a minute, just leave kudos ;)  
> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!


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